


UNDER THE WEATHER

by AgnesClementine



Series: Coldwave Winter week 2018 [5]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Coldwave Winter Week 2018, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 09:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17118350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: Len gets sick and Mick babysits him.*******************************Prompt for the 23rd Dec- Sick!fic/slice of life/domestic + blankets/hot soup





	UNDER THE WEATHER

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully, this is as fluffy as I think it is.
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)
> 
> (the movie they're watching is called Felidae)

Mick trudges up the stairs of his apartment building, the cold still clinging to him like he hasn’t just entered a closed space. He suspects that either the landlord is too cheap to turn on the heating in the hallways or the heaters aren’t working; and considering he accidentally took off the handhold of the banister the last week, he’s pretty sure it’s the latter.

So he hurries up the stairs and opens the door of his apartment to the mid-summer heat. He wonders if he’ll find Len passed out from the heat stroke in the kitchen because this is a bit much even for him.

Then he hears a sneeze.

Lisa pops her head from the kitchen. She looks at him with wide eyes and mouths, “ _He’s sick_ ,” at him with terror. Mick’s hand twitches. The door is still close enough for him to slip out.

Lisa narrows her eyes at him like she knows exactly what he’s thinking.

Maybe because he did bail on her that one time Len got shot and then consequentially got whiny about it. It’s not his fault though- he just asked Len if he wanted a sandwich and the asshole threw a book at him. And he’s got a perfect aim.

But it’s too fucking cold outside for him to leave again.

“Len? You alive?” He calls out.

There’s a garbled, defeated noise from the bedroom and Mick relaxes. So Lisa already gave him the good stuff. Thank God.

It sounds bad, but Mick didn’t know the guy could smile sincerely at someone other than Lisa until he got doped up on Tylenol. ( _He’s a lightweight for everything from beer to heavy meds and Mick thinks it’s hilarious._ )

He toes off his boots and hangs his jacket on the coat rack before going to check on Len. There’s a vaguely human-shaped mountain of blankets making sad noises and sniffing, a pair of glassy, light blue eyes squinting at him before a hand sticks out of the heap and waves at him.

Mick returns the wave with amusement, a grin tugging at his lips, and goes to the kitchen.

Lisa is perched on the counter, wrinkling her nose at her phone.

“What’s that face?” Mick asks, taking a smaller pot out of the cupboard and filling it up with water.

“Nothing,” she says, “my friends are being dumb.”

Mick looks at her over his shoulder, “Want me to kick someone’s ass?”

“ _Mick, no_. Not that kind of dumb.” Lisa explains.

“Right.” He responds, not really sure what other kinds of dumb would have Lisa making that face.

He gives it a few moments.

Lisa sighs heavily. “They’re nagging me about this Christmas party, but I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

Lisa is quiet and he glances at her to find her looking at him like he’s slow.

“Because Len is sick.” She says like it’s an obvious reason.

He frowns, “So?”

“So? I can’t just leave him alone. He’s hopeless.” Lisa says simply and without a filter.

“Alone? The hell am I? A houseplant?” Mick asks, fake offended.

Lisa levels him with a deadpan look, “You two almost killed each other that time he twisted his ankle. And that one time he went down with a fever.” She stops to think, then adds, “And that other time he went down with a fever.”

Mick makes a face because, yeah, okay, she’s got a point. “I won’t let him near sharp objects. Or into the kitchen.” He promises.

“But-“

Mick groans, “I’ll feed him some soup and then he’ll probably pass out. Go to your damn party.”

“You sure?” Lisa asks uncertainly.

“How hard can it be when he’s like that?”

“He’s lucid.”

“He waved at me.”

Lisa blinks at him.

“Okay,” she says slowly, “that is a valid point. Please try not to kill each other.” She says, hopping down on her feet and shooting off a text on her phone.

Mick grumbles.

She breezes through the apartment while she gets ready, getting into a few semi-understandable conversations with Len that all went along the same lines.

(“Hey, Lenny, what do you think about this dress?”

Grumbled noise. “Open field.”

“Hmm, you’re right. What about those? Blue or purple?”

“Ugh, lavender stinks.”

“Blue then? Nice. What about earrings?”

“Stars. Sun’s overrated.”)

Mick couldn’t keep track of every conversation, but if anyone understands a Snart, it’s the other Snart, so he let them be.

Lisa wraps herself into her thick, wool coat, blows him a kiss and leaves.

Mick putters around the kitchen for a while, keeping an ear out for any suspicious noises (Len once crawled out of bed while under a strict order to rest because of broken ribs and dislocated his wrist).

Eventually, he makes his way to the bedroom, two bowls of soup in his hands.

“Hey, I brought you soup,” he says to a Len shaped lump.

He gets a displeased noise in response.

“Quit whining, it’s good for you,” he says and sets off to detangling Len from the blanket cocoon he made for himself.

He doesn’t have a fever, probably because Lisa already feed him ibuprofen, but his cheeks and nose are pink and his eyes are shining like polished gems. He blinks at Mick.

“No soup,” he slurs, “bad.”

Mick rolls his eyes. “It’s not bad. Eat.”

Len whines, but accepts the bowl and the spoon and takes a tentative, small spoonful. He scrunches up his nose. “Gross.”

“You’re sick like a dog. It’s not like you can actually taste it so shut up and eat.”

He settles himself on the other side of the bed and eats his own soup. Len’s talking shit, it’s great.

“I’m divorcing you,” Len says grumpily.

“We’re not married,” Mick responds and flicks on the TV.

“Not yet,” Len stage whispers to himself, shovels another spoonful in his mouth. He’s dropped the pretense of having functional taste buds, it seems.

Mick shakes his head and makes a mental note to figure out the best way to propose before the fucker beats him to it.

“Leave that,” Len says, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

It’s an animated movie with a cat detective. Mick doesn’t question it because drugged Len always has questionable taste in… pretty much everything. It’s why he doesn’t like Mick’s food when he’s sick.

The movie itself is… weird, definitely. Mick kind of likes it. Though, he’s pretty sure it shouldn’t be shown on TV.

“Huh,” Len muses, momentarily drowning out the cat noises. Mick never thought he’d watch animated cat porn- but here he is.

He wonders what the hell were the producers smoking while making this.

Len doesn’t seem to mind it. The mystery plots- cat porn or not- were always his thing. He leans into Mick’s side, cheek propped up on his shoulder.

Mick appreciates it greatly when the final showdown comes, how everything goes up in glorious, animated flames. ( _He could do without cat guts, though._ )

“Dark now. Don’t resurrect me.” Len says when the movie is done and they both have been staring at the credits rolling for a quiet moment, and leans even more into Mick. He falls asleep before he even settled properly.

Mick snorts, putting that gem away for safekeeping and slings his arm around Len’s shoulders.

  * ●●●●



“Every single _goddamn_ time,” Lisa says, scowling at them.

Mick scowls back and blows his nose. “Not a word, Lisa.”

He feels like shit. Everything hurts and he can’t even taste anything he eats. What a load of bullshit is that?

Len sneezes next to him, then groans and flops back down into his nest of blankets. Mick takes one blanket that’s not trapped under him and covers him with it. Len squirms around until his face is pressed in Mick’s hip.

“God, you two are such saps.” Lisa grumbles and Mick’s glare is very efficient in letting her know what he thinks about that- until he has to blow his nose again.


End file.
